Pain or Poetry?..

Hello all. Here is a link to my handy new blog post on the Streep website. I hope you enjoy it.

http://www.brothersstreep.com/blog/94/Pain-or-Poetry---

Toodle-pip,

andrewiconkerr

Stress. Balls..

We've all been stressed at one stage or another (unless of course you are not an actor, and have a real job far away from the theater). Until recently, stress has just been something that one I learnt to deal with. You get stressed, you perform your anti-stress-technique, you get through it. And it's worked pretty well for me so far. But I never really contemplated the theory behind stress. And there is theory. In fact I'll go so far as to say it's a science. Scientific.

Whilst conducting the majority of my research on http://www.definitelyfact,but possiblyfiction.com I was astonished at what I discovered..

Stress-balls. No, I'm not talking about the balloons filled with flour or beads. Everyone says, "Oh I LOVE stress balls!" when asked, but truth be told they are more frustrating than helpful. You start playing with them and it's great fun, until your competitive side kicks in and suddenly you want to squeeze this thing within an inch of it's existence so that it bursts into a puff of smoke! Unfortunately, no matter how far in you dig your nails, the damn thing never breaks. And this process only ups your heart-rate, making you more stressed. Oh the irony.

When I say "stress-balls" I am referring to the definitely-factual areas on your body that contain these little spheres of nervous-tissue called "stress-balls". These non-metaphorical items are located differently on everyone. Mine, for example, are on my gums just above my teeth. If I don't bush my teeth regularly I get very stressed (as well as halitosis). Some people have stress-balls located on their tongue, triggering gluttonous eating, whereas others have them placed on various muscles, forcing them to go out into the land and workout frantically. Some people even have stressed-balls, but I won't go into that.

As with almost all bodily functions, there is a level of control that needs to be attained. These stress-balls need to be stimulated of course, but I have realized over the years that brushing my teeth 6 times a day during exams is probably going to have an adverse affect on my winning smile in later life.

So now you know a bit more about your body and how it works. I challenge you to find your stress-balls, because if you find your stress-balls ...you have remarkable eyesight!

Toodle-pip,

andrewiconkerr

This one's for Hugh..

The world of the internet as a dangerous place, and journeying therein is not to be done irresponsibly. I myself have been using the internet for many seasons, and have yet venture too deep into the unknown. This is because I know my limits. I may be a man of almost incomparable height, but when it comes to exploring online, there is no braver man than Mr. Hugh Lashbrooke.

It all started back in 1985. Hugh was born and immediately his parents knew that he would be intrepid. As a child, Hugh lived dangerously, seeking out places none of his friends would dare to tread. A sign saying, "Danger: High Voltage Power Lines" was like a welcome mat to this boy. And in that exact story is where Hugh's life changed. As his parents rushed him to the hospital in their VW Jetta, Hugh bleeding from his right ear and whimpering unconsciously, they could see that his life would never be the same.

And so, after a month in intensive care, and another in psychotherapy, Hugh returned to the playground where his friends were eagerly waiting to hear how he escaped the clutches of death. An anonymous source claims that he clearly remembers seeing faint sparks coursing through Hugh's hair whenever he spoke. Some of his friends still claim this happens currently.

During his high-school career, a privately owned power generation & utilization company took interest and had a meeting with Hugh, where they allegedly performed several experiments on him. Being a teenager at the time, Hugh was incredibly unstable, and the reports in the newspapers said nothing more than a sparkplug and a badly burned office chair was left after the explosion. Fortunately Hugh managed to escape the public's eye by flying under the radar.

Since leaving school, his 'condition' has lessened and he has learned to control his actions almost entirely. Instead it seems as though he is funneling his skills into more apt avenues. Recent studies have shown that without Hugh Lashbrooke, the internet as we know it today would be 78% slower and far more unreliable. I was fortunate enough to witness Hugh 'logging-in' one sunny Sunday afternoon. After a short while I asked him how he was feeling. His response? Cached.

It is difficult to call yourself and explorer slash adventurer in this day and age, because we have found everywhere (it was hiding just behind Greenland). But in the infinite stretches of the internet, Hugh Lashbrooke makes his discoveries. Travelling like electrons along a fibre-optic cable, he plunders and destroys, creates and defines, and reveals all that he feels is necessary. And you will never see him.

Ladies and gentlemen I hereby introduce my friend, Hugh Lashbrooke: Web ninja..

www.hughlashbrooke.com

Toodle-pip,

andrewiconkerr

I Knew You'd Say That..

There are certain things in this world that are just not cricket. Rugby for example.

Now that that joke is out of the way, I want to talk about psychics.

I think that psychics get a pretty bad rep in general. I also happen to think that they deserve it. Let's face facts. It's a con. Crystals, smoke and funny cards don't give you any insight into the passing of a long, lost relative. It may help your sinuses, but it's easier just to take a Panado. That's right. I've just compared psychics as a collective group around the world to a single Panado... and the Panado won.

What is even sadder is the actual people who go to psychics in order to reach the other side. (Just ask a chicken for Pete's sake. Poor Pete..) Now, one might argue that these people have no options left. Their town may be in a bit of a Panado depression, and they thought if they needed another solution, may as well make it a nice day out. I'd love to believe this, but then I'd also love to believe that the Gravy Train is actually a train full, and made out, of gravy. Man that would be cool. And scientifically interesting. But people do really spend money on other people in a bandanna, adorned in rings and bracelets, and generally smelling of mysticism, to connect them with people who really don't want to be connected with. Rule 1 of any scary movie ever: They're dead. Leave them alone!

I have not met a psychic. I don't know what I'd say to them if I did meet one because, if they really can do what they say they can, I don't need to tell them anything. I think I'd just say, "Oh, so you're a psychic. . . . Bye!"

I don't hate psychics. They are just people too. In fact, they are pretty smart people if they've managed to suck in so many loyal followers. I could probably learn some tricks from them. Maybe then more people would read this blog. I think I'm going to have a go:

"HEAR YE! If you want to connect with interesting YET SERIOUSLY MYSTERIOUS AND POSSIBLY SPOOKY internet ramblings, tune in with your PSYCHIC POWERS computer to this website, and ALL YOUR DREAMS might appear in this GLOOM OF TIME blog."

Now cross my inbox with silver..

Toodle-pip,

andrewiconkerr

HELLO!..

In the beginning, if someone was far away and you needed to get a message across, you just shouted at them until they stopped banging rocks together and looked around quizzically. This really started out the process of communication over long distances. Once people had realized that no matter how hard you screamed from London, and however acute her hearing may have been, your aunt in Birmingham still wouldn't hear you, they started looking for new and interesting ways to shout at people and be heard.

So Morse-code and Telegrams were invented. Unless the operator was feeling tetchy this was generally read out in a well-mannered tone, and society felt that the age-old art of shouting was lost. Sir Alexander Graham Bell decided that this wouldn't do, and he came to the rescue by inventing the telephone (allegedly). Soon people all over the world were shouting at one another like in the good, old days. And everyone was feeling better because, let's face it, having a good shout cleanses the lungs and stimulates the anger-glands. And that's always a good thing. But our story takes a dramatic and terrifying twist...

Cellphones.

Email.

These menaces have sprung up and hide themselves under the guise of being "incredibly useful and easily accessible". Ha! They have you duped. Sure, at least with cellphones you have the option of shouting at people, but mostly people just revert to sending sms's. Capslock is not real shouting. And email is even worse! There is absolutely no chance of shouting at someone over email. If you even try, you just sound like a tool.

And so it doesn't look good for world-wide-shout-conservation, and people are becoming quieter and quieter by the day. Soon there will be no shouting at all, and who knows where that will lead! It is estimated that some people will lose their voices completely! Even permanently!!

Here is my suggestion. Instead of talking to people, shout at people. Instead of smsing people, make the extra effort to go over to them and shout in their face. When people ask you questions in an interview, shout them down. They'll thank you in the long run. You have to keep the bigger picture in mind people, but I know we can save this world. Together. Shouting all the way.

I'll be at your house momentarily to shout this blog at you..

TOODLE-PIP!

andrewiconkerr

...But you can call me Fylan..

Hello faithful readers.

I thought that I should let you know that I have started blogging for my friends, The Brothers Streep. In order to keep within the various Streep traditions, on the site I will be referred to as 'Fylan Streep' in light of me being a 'fake Dylan'. If you want to know how I got that name, please feel free to ask me.

So, this isn't a blog for this site, but from now whenever I post a Streep-blog, I will put the link here, as well as my own blogs.

Here is the first: http://www.brothersstreep.com/blog/74/It-could-make-a-grown-man-cry--

Huzzah!

Toodle-pip,

andrewiconkerr

Safe as Horses..

So here we are, the second in a two part bumper-edition blog. I would like to apologise for the delay in writing this second installment, but exams came and went, and now I have some well deserved free time. Back to the confusion, or on with the metaphor..

I was standing in the queue at Spar the other day. This in itself is not a particularly interesting topic, but it does happen to be the same day and queue in which I had the House Music epiphany. After I returned to reality from a brief trip down memory lane (as described in the ThinlySlicedThoughts Bumper Edition Part 1), my eyes headed heavenwards and fell upon a large television hanging from the roof.

What was on it made my blood curdle.

Horse-jumping.

I hate horse-jumping.

I don't think that's even the correct term for it, but I don't care. I think it's a vile "sport" played by posh and pompous "gentle"-people who really have nothing better to do with their time. Every time a horse nears one of those fences, my heart skips a beat.

Question: What is horse-jumping?

Answer: Making a horse run around in a field and force it to try and jump over large, sturdy, brutally tough wooden fences.

Question: What is the easiest way to get a horse to break it's leg?

Answer: Making a horse run around in a field and force it to try and jump over large, sturdy, brutally tough wooden fences.

Question: What do we do with those horses? Do we let them heal so that they can live out their disabled lives happily and peaceful?

Answer. No. We shoot them in the head.

So you now see why I hate this "past-time" so much. It's completely unfair on the horses! Have you ever asked a horse whether they enjoy being made to jump? I have. Their answer was an emphatic "Neigh!". Translation: "No!". They did however answer no to a lot of the questions I asked them. Turns out they are rather negative animals..

Ok, so maybe horses are all suicidal, and maybe this is a good and efficient way for them to end up at the pearly stable. But if we are not careful, and if we don't stop teaching them maths and science, we may end up answering questions with the phrase, "How high? Oh, the height of that fence.."

Toodle-pip

andrewiconkerr

Flogging a Dead House..

This blog post forms the 1st of a two-part bumper-blog, which came to be out of an unfortunate accident with a mixed metaphor. They may not even be related. Here goes..

I was standing in the queue at the Spar the other day, when I suddenly realised that I really like House music. This is a bit of an admission, because I know a lot of my friends will now be rolling up their noses and sniffing in their sleeves with contempt for such a statement. But the fact remains. I like it.

As I am venturing out into the uncharted depths of honesty, I think a justification is in order. At the time of this realisation I questioned my motives for enjoying the 'doof-doof's and the 'rikki-tikki-tees' etc. The conclusion I arrived at startled me with it's simplicity. Lazerquest!

If you have never experienced the joys of running around in a badly lit room, covered from skull to shin in sweat, hazed in synthetic smoke and generally shooting people in the face with lazers, then you probably haven't lived. Or at least you haven't played Lazerquest. It was an absolute pinnacle of entertainment for me and my friends from the age of 14 to 21, and dare I say beyond. But the key issue in this story is that whilst one is playing Lazerquest (or should I say 'living' Lazerquest) one is being blasted with the most violent, the most barbaric, the most incredibly loud house music known to man.

Back then I didn't get it. The music was secondary to pointing a big gun at someone and getting their suit to make the "deedle-deedle-deedle-dooo-dooo-dooo-doobadup!" sound. What I didn't realise is that the Lazerquest staff were cunningly imprinting this music into my brain so that when, 8-or-so years later, I heard it again, it suddenly made me feel like I was about to storm the barrels and take over the luminous corrugated fort! I.e. I felt like I was at peace.

I don't know if you like House music, and it certainly is an acquired taste. It is no crime to crank up the volume and have more bass than a hearty American fishing holiday. But if you don't like House music, please don't immediately judge someone for listening to it and enjoying it. Because if you do, we will collectively own you with freakin' lazers..

Toodle-pip,

andrewiconkerr

Fridges..

There is something about a fridge that really unnerves me. The way they just stand there in the corner and wait for you. They are almost sneaky. When you open the fridge door, suddenly the light goes on and you can see what you want. But you know that as soon as the door is closed, the light vanishes and anything could be happening in there.

Now I'm a tall guy, but even just standing next to a fridge makes me nervous. I think that particular qualm is due to a fridge being so incredibly heavy. If it were to tip itself onto you, you would certainly feel it in the morning.

Fridges with those extra compartments for the tiny little freezers are by far the worst. It's almost as though the fridge is evolving, creatively thinking up new designs and new ways to attack or inconvenience their human prey. Before you ask me how they would go about this hunting that I have so fervently claimed, I will tell you that I don't know. But isn't that just as frightening..

I don't know about you, but it seems to me that whenever I retrieve something in the fridge that I had put there earlier, it's never in quite the same position. Sure, to the untrained eye it may seem like it is, but I know better. It's nothing I'd be able to prove, but it's just enough to unsettle me.

And then you hear these horror stories about people getting trapped in fridges. You don't hear that about ovens or microwaves. It seems like fridges are made to be dangerous. Not to mention cold-hearted. I think the very serious question facing our society needs to be addressed: Do we really need fridges at all, if they are going to put our lives at risk of being trapped or, worse, snuck-up on? Ladies and gentlemen, my case is as firm as Alec Baldwin's quiff. This scourge needs to be eradicated immediately!

They do keep my beers cold though..

Toodle-pip,

andrewiconkerr

It's..

"It's all about the money."

This song has been running through my brain for almost a week now, and it is starting to annoy me. At one stage I started to think about it deeply, to see if it had any value in it, as a philosophical statement. It certainly sound like it does. Many things are all about the money, like banking and shopping. And amusement parks. Wow. That's a lot of things. Could the band Meja be right? Could it be true? Is this all that life comprises of?

No.

Because the next line states that "it's all about the dum dum du-dee-dum dum."

I don't know what this means, but clearly they came to a realization in the middle of a song that a combination of dums and dees was actually what it's all about and that these were not to be taken lightly. Not only that, but now I'm even more confused because as I child it was all about the 'Hokey-Pokey'.

Sherbet. This is not going well. Somebody needs to come to some consensus, or we as a global population are not going to know what it's all about! This could be catastrophic. If Alaska doesn't know what it's all about then they might just melt all the snow they have on a whim. Or if Jamaica doesn't know what it's all about then they might get all stressed and stop doing the limbo. Or if Australia doesn't know what it's all about then they might stop-actually, maybe that would be ok.

I don't know what it's all about. You may think you know what it's all about but I don't think you do know what it's all about, especially if what you think it's all about is also what I think it's all about, when it's really not about it at all. But whatever the case, we need to know. Urgently.

Maybe the Government will give me some research funding..

Toodle-pip,
andrewiconkerr

Attack of the Elderly..

This may not be one of the most useful blog posts I have ever written, but let me tell you, it's going to be one of the punchiest.

I was sitting somewhere irrelevant the other day, minding my own business (that I started since the recession), and suddenly a thought occurred me. Before I indulge your inquisitiveness with elaborating on what this thought might have been, I need to give you some background to my personality.

I am a quasi-nerd. I enjoy nerds-only jokes, I am well acquainted enough with a computer to class myself as a nerd, and I have Lord of the Rings posters on my wall. In this day and age it is quite cool to be geeky, and I refuse point-blank to bow down to what society says is cool, even if I am within that bracket. So now you know why I am only quasi, and not a full-blown, self-proclaimed nerdzor. With all that in mind, I return to the issue at hand.

We've all seen the epic reenactment of Tolkien's masterpiece, 'The Lord Of The Rings', and many of us will have read and viewed the latest in popular books-turned-films that are the Harry Potter movies. Can you still not see where I am heading with this? Let me put you out of your misery, and not drag this incessantly long introduction for any longer. (This is where the nerd in me scrambles to the fore, and bats the normal person aside)

I want to see the fight between Albus Dumbledore and Gandalf the Grey. I mean, come on! Two great and powerful wizards, battling it out for honour and who can perform the most epic card tricks.

When you sit down and analyse the situation, were it to occur, there are various scenarios that may take place. Firstly, you know it's going to be a fair fight. There will be no beard-tugging or ball-grabbing going on because these guys have principles.

Secondly, the fight could end up being location dependent. In other words, Gandalf would strive in an outdoors location with no public toilets nearby or any fast food taverns. Dumbles on the other hand has to fight predominantly in a school to be of any use.

Thirdly, if you have seen all of the aforementioned movies you will know that when it comes to actual spell-casting, Gandalf seems to be a little shy. Often we see him say some words and instantly switch on all the LEDs at the top of his staff, but not really anything more than that. Dumbledore however seems to have endless ability to conjure up fireballs and swirling flames.

However, if the situation arose in which they were to be fighting in close proximity, Gandalf would be the clear victor. He has plenty of experience with a sword, and even if he dropped his sword whilst trying to be intense for the camera, it's still a wand vs staff battle. I don't now if you've seen one of those before, so I went out and experimented with two old men. Staff wins, hands down..

So there we are. Those are my views on how the most epic of all fantasy fights would go down. Unfortunately I don't think they will ever film this epic battle, and that is a sad reality. The one thing I do know is that when I'm their age...I want a beard.

Toodle-pip,

andrewiconkerr

Time Travel for the Inexperienced..

Ladies and gentlemen, for as long as time has been comprehended, mankind has wanted to escape these bonds and enter into the unexplored zone of Time-Travel. As the title of this essay suggests, Time-Travel is not something that one should just jump into. It is a complicated process that should be very carefully thought through before any action is taken. My aim is not to explain the fundamentals of how to Time-Travel, as I am sure you are all aware of the simplicity of the process, once it had been explained in graphic detail by Meredith Green (1955-?-3771), but more to point out the dangers of ignorance when contemplating doing it yourself. Many a person has approached the subject of Time-Travel with a cavalier attitude, and many have not actually have been in the cavalry, so to speak.

Time-Travel should be approached carefully, just as one would treat a lion when trying to tweak a whisker for important research: very gingerly, and with a hasty escape plan. Time-Travel sounds like a simple enough concept. “It is just like normal travel, only instead of ending up somewhere else, you just end up somewhen else,” fools have been heard to say. And indeed if you are a person who may have believed such utter drivel, then I suggest you take careful note of the tips and pointers that I shall be issuing you.

Firstly, Time-Travel comes at a cost. A time cost. The intrepid Time-Traveler must be a person arrogant and selfish in personality. This is because the amount of time they gain in traveling back in time needs to be derived from somewhere else. Time, of course, doesn’t just grow on trees. For a universal balance to take place, if our Time-Traveling ‘hero’ goes back 60 years (effectively gaining those years in potential-time) someone else has to lose them. This has effects as severe as instantaneous death or a person almost forty years old. One minute your body has forty to fifty strong years ahead of it, and the next thing it thinks its hit the big century and is handing in its notice. Hardly fair on the families.

Now I know what you’re all thinking. You’re all thinking, “Oh but its fine if they go into the future, because then, for the balance to work, someone is going to get another 60 years life.” This is true, but who’s to say whether a man taking his last breaths on his deathbed, having spent the last twenty years battling an incurable disease wants to spend the next sixty doing the same. And anyway, when the Time-Traveler comes back in time to tell of his fantastical journeys, some other poor sod has his life cut short again. I reiterate: Time-Travel is not for the selfless.

Secondly, the moment someone is transferred back or forward in time, a vacuum is left in their place. And as nature, and the teenager chore-avoiding boy, abhors a vacuum it replaces the emptiness with something of sheer worthlessness, just to plug the gap. More often than not this is a pile of Boney M cds, but every once in a while you get an Elvis impersonator.

My point could not be more clear: When embarking on a journey involving Time-Travel one needs to realize that one is effectively affecting everyone in the world dramatically negatively. If not directly, as illustrated in my first point, then certainly indirectly (as predicted by my second point) via an incident that may occur at a terrible party. You’d have to be a real prick to want to Time-Travel. But that’s what they said about Magellan..

Toodle-pip,

andrewthekerr

Squeak..

My car is not known for its reliability. Come to think of it, my car is not known for many things: its policy on foreign affairs; its views on how maroon is the new red; or even how pillows are the key to the future of our children. But yesterday morning I got into The Major (yes, I named my car "The Major". If you have a problem with this, I suggest you write to Ura Huge of the Automobile Renaming Society for Engineers), and I realised that all was not well. The Major had developed an unaccountable squeak, which was emanating from just above my right ear.

Now, whether this complication arose due to something I instigated, or whether it is something unrelated to the way I handle The Major, is almost impossible for me to ascertain. The fact of the matter is that there was a squeak, and it unsettled me somewhat. Don't get me wrong, my car has a number of rattles and shakes. But no squeaks. Not yet. Not until yesterday. The situation had moved from an old car, to an old car that now suddenly could fall apart and spontaneously combust at any stage.

I wound down the window. No change. I wound up the window to the point where I physically couldn't force the glass any further up between the two fiddly bits of rubber. No change. Sweat formed on my brow, and I started to panic. I was now a liability, driving on a public road, in broad daylight. We've all seen the movies, and so we all know that unaccountable squeaks have a tendency to lead to spectacular and explosive deaths...

It turns out that the squeak stopped after about a kilometer of driving, and I managed to arrive at my destination with all limbs attached. But I can honestly say that I have learnt a valuable lesson, and it is this lesson that I would like to impart on you all today:

"When driving an old car, and you hear a squeak resonating from an unknown source, stop the car. You would be much better off if you just walked to wherever you are going. You would also stand more chance of avoiding cardiac arrest if you heeded my advice regularly and as your fitness builds."

So there we are. Squeaks ultimately lead to death. Avoiding the aforementioned squeaks clearly leads to extended longevity. You can thank me later.

Toodle-pip,

andrewthekerr

Clouds & Bunnies..

There is something magical about clouds. The way they frolic turbulently through the sky as a storm rolls in, or how they hang there, completely unperturbed, on a still summers afternoon. Clouds have been equated to many things, predominantly candy-floss or cotton-balls, or even God's beard (totally made that one up), but what I find the most fascinating about clouds is the way they always look like something.

It certainly reveals something about the human psyche when we can look at an enormous clump of evaporated water and claim, "Don't you see it darling? Ha! You must be blind not to spot that bunny rabbit." And why do we always spot the bunny rabbit first? Just before we see the dragon?

Clouds provide a sort of "middle-ground" between us and the universe. I sometimes feel that (if aliens existed) they would arrive at earth, plunge burning and smoldering through our atmosphere, and screech to a halt in front of a cold font saying, "Hang on! What the hell is this? This is far too weird and picturesque for us to demolish. Hey Charles! Have a feel of this stuff! Looks solid but is actually cold and a little moist..." before we blew them out the sky with our anti-alien guns (Really should get someone to invent those..)

After all this has been said, I do love a good quality overcast day. When the whole city is blanketed in clouds it makes me feel like I'm permanently tucked up in bed. But those half-arsed cloudy days when it's almost like the evaporation wizard got bored by 11am, now those days I can't stand. Sure, they end up in amazing sunsets, but you have to endure an entire day of wondering whether you should have taken the washing in or not.

Don't worry friends, the next post will have more substance than this, and it will be sooner than you think. But the next time you look at a cloud, try being more imaginative than the bunny I know you're already thinking about..

Toodle-pip
andrewthekerr